


would you kindly?

by homotardigrada



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Bioshock AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-14
Updated: 2014-10-20
Packaged: 2018-02-17 08:08:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2302613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/homotardigrada/pseuds/homotardigrada
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael is running through a failed underwater utopia and finds his only companion to be a voice on the radio.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. rapture can be your city

Sparks are the first thing Michael hears, so fire is the first thing Michael thinks of.

Fire.

Michael remembers the fire raining down into the ocean just a few moments ago as he crash-landed into it, but it doesn’t feel that same anymore. He still feels cold- he’s shivering- and heavy, and  _he can’t breathe_ , but he’s not drowning. No, but he remembers drowning.

Now he’s laying on the floor of a broken elevator that’s emitting an impressive amount of sparks, and a voice is urging Michael to do something. “You need to get up,” the voice continues, but Michael only just started registering anything he was saying. “Shit, you just got here. If you were going to pass out, it should’ve been out there.”

The red-haired boy can’t find it in himself to let out anything more than a groan, but the voice takes the response eagerly. “Yes! Yes. Okay, this is good,” he pipes up, the energy dripping out of him for a moment. “Now take some deep breaths. I realize you’re in, um, quite a situation, but you need to get up soon.”

There’s a screeching noise outside of the elevator that cuts Michael off before he can attempt a reply. He remembers hearing that before, too. Shit, he remembers  _seeing_  it. It makes him lose his breath again, and it’s at that moment that Michael’s brain is running through the reality of the situation he’s in. He’s sprawled across the floor of some elevator that’s probably on the brink of collapsing, but it’s the only thing that’s separating him from what’s screeching outside and threatening to kill him. “Get up,” the voice calls him out of his thoughts again. “As much fun as it is to watch you lose your shit every so often, we need to get a move on.”

Michael huffs out a reply and forces his arms to push himself up. His arms felt heavier than he remembers, but he accomplishes the small feat and takes in the sight outside of the glass elevator door again. It’s still the same compared to the image he saw before passing out, but this time the screeching thing is gone. There’s also a hovering camera, Michael thinks, lingering outside now.

He doesn't know who was talking to him before, but Michael figures they can hear him. “Is it still here,” he asks, annoyingly shakily. His voice feels so raw.

“The splicer?”  _That’s what it is_ , Michael notes. “Yeah, but before we deal with that, pick me up.”  _And it’s still out there._

“Huh?"

“I’m the radio to your left."

“Ah.” It’s a small handheld radio propped against the wall of the elevator. He pockets it, hoping that it’ll still be loud enough to be heard in there. “Besides being a radio, who are you?”

“Your best friend,” he jokes. Suddenly, another screech outside makes Michael jump and makes the voice laugh. It’s barely audible, but Michael catches it and frowns. “My name’s Ray though, if you need something to call me.”

“Okay, Ray,” he hesitates, “how do I get out of here then?” Michael doesn't remember how he got here, but he was sure he wasn't supposed to be here.

Ray ponders on the thought for a moment. “Well, I guess we need to get rid of the splicer first.”

“You guess?” Michael is generally a grateful guy. In fact, he fully grasps the fact that Ray is major blessing to him. Without the voice from the radio, Michael would probably curl up against the elevator walls and wait for the horrible screeches to leave, and they probably wouldn't. He’d probably die without this voice, Michael assumes. Except it was also sounding like he might die regardless.

Ray picked up on Michael’s rising anxiety. “Would you kindly step outside now?”

“Gladly,” he replied in mock formality. The sudden change in Ray’s tone made Michael snort. “Except I don’t think it’s a good idea if the splicer is out there."

"The security bot outside will try to protect you for a while." He was referring to the hovering camera Michael had seen earlier. "You can probably find something laying around out there. You need to be out there for that though, and you're not. You're still in here." Ray was getting very adamant about getting a move on. "I can lead you to the best weapon around," he tried, "but we need to get out there."

Michael agreed that having a weapon would make this a lot easier. It would probably make him feel safer, and that's all he hoped for. "Alright," he agreed as he started to pry the doors open, but he ultimately failed as they began to open up on their own. There was snickering on the radio again, but Michael ignored it as he became immersed in the sights before him. He had seen it before, obviously, but now he was actually stepping into the scene. The first thing he wanted to do was run to the glass walls and admire the ocean he was in. Despite the imminent danger around him, the scenery looked  _beautiful_.

Michael seemed to be in a city _under the sea_ , but he wasn't allowed to linger on it for too long. "Go find something you can hurt her with. It can be anything, really. We’ll find something better later,” Ray pressured, genuinely concerned about Michael's situation. 

He stepped away from the expansive display of the ocean and back into the image of dark halls and leaky ceilings. “Okay,” Michael said mostly to himself, “let’s find something better.” The ocean wouldn't be leaving anytime soon anyway.

As soon as he began walking towards a potential exit, loud ringing struck the silence and Michael began to catch the sound of bullets being shot. "The security bot found her," Ray clarified. "I don't think it'll be enough, though. Walk faster."

The way Ray finished his sentence was enough to get Michael rushing. It wasn't long until his eyes locked onto a wrench. Judging by the surroundings he had sped by, Michael decided this was the best weapon he was going to find. "Where is she?"

"I don't know. She killed my eyes." The security bot had easily fallen victim to the splicer. It was unsettling to watch his perspective get mauled so quickly, and the abrupt darkness following it was even worse. The sensory deprivation fueled Ray's worried demands. "Did you get something? You're going to need to kill her. She'll be around you soon enough, and I need you to not die. She  _is_  limping, but-"

"I think I can do it," he lied. Michael clutched the wrench harder, his knuckles actually getting paler than his skin.

Eventually, he walked far enough to hear the splicer's clicking up ahead. She didn't have any interest in him, it seemed, but that didn't change anything. Michael did his best to sneak up behind her.  _Like a video game_ , Michael told himself as he crept up behind the skinny walker that was busy emitting creepy screeches. It wasn't until she began to turn around that Michael began to panic. His mind ran through all the terrible possibilities, and his body rammed itself into the splicer to knock her over and got her pinned to the ground. He was screaming and punching as she was screeching. Michael did a good job of drilling the wrench between her neck by continuously jabbed it into her while busying his free hand with keeping her down.

The noises Ray was hearing confused him, but eventually the splicer's cries were squelched and Ray could figure out how the encounter ended. "Are you okay?" He couldn't tell if the last screams were of pain or of triumph.

They weren't of  _anything_. It just helped if Michael yelled back at the noises being directed at him. He's pretty sure that he punched the splicer more than needed as he stopped to try to answer Ray's question. The splicer had been killed. "Yeah," Michael answered laboriously. "I could really use something better than a wrench though." He looked down at his bloodied hands. The stinging was drained by the general loss of feeling in his body. He felt unnaturally weak.

He thinks Ray noticed in his voice too, judging by the softer tone he took on. "Yeah, okay. Um, good job... we'll go get something to eat soon. I'm sure you'll find something." Michael could tell Ray didn't know what he was talking about. That's how Michael would sound when he tried to calm people like Lindsay down, but he wasn't any good at it.

There was a bad feeling in his stomach as he remembered leaving Lindsay behind. The more he thought about it, though, the easier it was to accept that she wasn't here.  _She would hate this place_ , he decided. It was dark, creepy, and wet. The smell of water wafted through the air, but it was different than the pleasant smell that comes after the rain washes over concrete sidewalks. Here, the water made the city smell like it had been drowned. It mixed with the smells of things that never get touched by the rain or sea: carpet, furniture, entire restaurants, etc. It didn't resonate well. Lindsay was better off being at her mother's right now.

"What's your name?" Ray questioned eventually.

That's right, he hadn't given the voice his name. "Michael."

"Where are you from?"

"Texas right now, but originally from New Jersey."

Ray hummed at the latter. "I was from New York. Ever been?"

"A couple of times, but it was for school field-trips. I never went there for anything else. Where are you from now?"

"Here," Ray answered matter-of-factly. "But I've always wanted to go to Texas. How is it?"

There had been a significant amount of walking around and getting distracted after the fight. The conversations between the two were enough to keep Michael from noticing the passing minutes. Currently, he was in what looked like a hotel lobby, and there were signs glorifying the city he was in. "Rapture, a city where the artist would not fear the censor. Where the scientist would not be bound by petty morality. Where the great would not be constrained by the small. And with the sweat of your brow, Rapture can become your city as well," he read aloud from the multitude of posters decorating worn-down walls. This wasn't anything like Austin, Texas.

The voice in his pocket snickered. "Welcome to Rapture. I'll be your personal tour guide, and I can answer any questions along the way."

"Where's the food?" The question was spoken before Michael processed it. He was starving.

"It's usually laying around. Are you sure you haven't happened upon any?"

Michael looked around him. Sure, there was bread on some empty restaurant tables he had peered into and potato chips laying around, but that wasn't anything he had considered eating. "I haven't gone into any restaurants yet. I don't know if I should. I thought you knew where they sold something, or... I don't know."

" _Sold something_ ," Ray scoffed. "Nobody sells anything anymore. Just find a candy bar laying around or something."

"Seriously?" That was quite alright with Michael Jones. Back at home, he had been known to be a food-eating daredevil. He'd eat anything to prove that he had a strong stomach whilst earning a couple of bucks along the way. "In which case, I'll go ahead and eat this..." He picked up a bar that he found on a random table. "... Pepbar. A stupid name, but it'll do."

"Pepbars are my shit, man. They're laying around all the time," he enthused.

"Probably because they _are_ shit." And they were, Michael decided as he ate one. It left an unpleasant taste of iron in his mouth.

"Whatever," Ray retorted childishly, "you've only been here for about an hour and you already think you know better? You don't know shit."

"I know I have a great taste in food! You'd die for some Texas-style burgers, and you don't even know it. It's actually sad, Ray. My soul weeps for you." Michael could feel Ray roll his eyes just as Ray could imagine Michael's shit-eating grin. God, it was awesome to have someone to talk to. "Where to now?"

"To a vending machine. I found some, but I don't know where you are." Ray had access to the eyes of the security bots in the area, but he had no control of where they went. His best option was to hope Michael would eventually walk towards one.

Michael didn't bother asking why he was being directed towards a vending machine. He figured it was for better food. He looked around for any significant visual markers and noticed a lot of neon lighting. "There's a huge neon sign that's point up a flight of stairs. 'Plasmids', it says."

"Perfect. Would you kindly follow it?" Michael smiled at the familiar phrase. It must be one of Ray's mannerisms. "You should find one of the vending machines I was planning to lead you to. Gatherer's Garden."

He walked up the stairs and found the exactly what Ray had described. The vending machine was very retro-looking and sold some sort of red liquid. _Bad marketing_ , Michael judged as he noticed some of it was bottled into a syringe. "I found it."

"You're going to have to take it," Ray admitted cautiously. He wasn't there to see Michael's reaction, but he expected it to be negative. "Like... stab yourself with the plasmid."

Michael hadn't expected that. "What? No, fuck that. I'm not doing that."

"This is the better weapon, Michael. You wanted it."

"How is stabbing myself going to help me?"

"Why don't you find out?"

"What kind of answer is that?"

"Just do it quickly on your forearm. You need to trust me."

"You just told me to stab myself." He did trust Ray, but Michael had trouble figuring out if it was because he actually liked Ray or because Ray was the only one on his side. Right now he was leaning towards the latter. "You're an okay guy, Ray, but I'd rather not do what you just asked of me."

"Would you kindly do it, asshole?"

Michael exhaled and grabbed the syringe, defeated. Ray wasn't going to let off of this. "Fine, but if I die, it's on your conscious."

"That's fine. Now, steady yourself before-"

Michael wanted it done as quickly as possible. He didn't wait for Ray to finish his sentence as he injected himself with whatever red liquids were jostling inside of the syringe.

"Michael," Ray yelled in genuine annoyance. "Steady yourself, Michael! You're whole genetic code is being rewritten and-" He stopped trying to explain what was going on when he didn't receive any logical response.

" _Michael_ ," he repeated, concerned when the man on the other end started whimpering. "Michael, just hang on and everything will be fine."

His head was swimming just as it had been when he had fallen from the sky and into the ocean. His vision was blurry, but Michael was sure he had just seen his hands get electrified. There were blue bolts surging between his two hands, and he wanted to shake it off. He couldn't hear anything but the electricity now, and everything hurt. He couldn't shake it off. "Ray," he called out helplessly. _Fix me_.

Michael didn't register any response, but you can bet that Ray was yelling back at him. He was yelling plenty of useless things that weren't going to help Michael escape the jolt that coursed through him. Michael tried to run it off, but the blurriness drove him to the railings of the second floor. He looked down at where he had been when he had noticed the neon sign and he tried to warn himself. "Get away from the edge," he yelled, but he couldn't help it. All it took was another surge of electricity.

 

* * *

 

Somebody was crouching down and carding their hands through his hair when he woke up. The light was too bright in the areas where Michael remembers it being too dark and his head hurt. He gave up the idea of reacting as soon as he saw the other hand was holding a bloodied baseball hat. He was better off pretending to be dead.

"You hear that?" a voice asked, but it wasn't directed at Michael and it wasn't Ray. "Let's get going!" His voice sounded twisted, like a splicer's, but he couldn't tell if it was just his head that was making everything sound weird.

"He might have some Adam in him," another voice responded, whining. This was the one touching him.

"He isn't worth it." They were obviously worried that something dangerous was coming, which alarmed Michael, but he was powerless. His vision began to fade away again as the two figures got up to leave. He started to fight another possible black-out as he heard the heavy _thump, thump, thump_ of something heading their way. His heart was fighting to keep his body awake.

The body that was once holding him made some indignant sound before turning back to Michael. "You'll be no better with the metal daddy," he growled, then turning to follow the other. Michael swore that man was wearing a cat mask.

_Thump, thump, thump._

The ground began to shake with every thump he heard, and before Michael's floating mind could register it, a giant metal foot landed in front of him. "Look Mr. Bubbles, it's an angel," a girl said as she walked into Michael's line of vision. She held a syringe that was longer than the one he had used. "I can see his broken wings. And light shining from his belly." She was talking to the giant metal monster behind her.

The girl began to inch closer and Michael raised his hand, urging her back from his position on the ground. The girl looked fake and doll-like, but her voice held the same innocence any other little girl would have.

The metal giant turned to look at Michael, revealing that a drill replaced one of his metal hands. "Wait, he's still breathing," the girl announced. She backed off of him and ran to the metal body, holding it's arm and leading it to walk away with her. Michael thought about it being the little girl's protector, which actually made him smile. It was a twisted kind of cute. "It's alright, I know he'll be an angel soon."

His vision left him before the little girl did.

 

* * *

  

Somehow, he managed to think clearly the second time he earned his vision back. Michael wondered why the little girl hadn't gotten to him after he knocked out again, but he was satisfied with justifying it as dumb luck.

It was easier to pull himself to his feet than before, too. He dusted himself off and felt the radio in his pocket. There he was, the prick.

He couldn't decide if he was really mad at Ray, but one thing was for sure: Ray owed him a big fucking apology. Michael felt like he had just gotten off the worst trip of his life. At least his head didn't hurt anymore. "Ray?"

There were ruffled noises coming from the radio before Ray answered. "Michael, you're okay!"

"I'm alive," Michael corrected. In no way was he okay. He had just been knocked out to hell and his mind was still swimming with the finish. He had just seen a giant metal being, a living doll, and two crazy men wearing animal masks that all almost killed him. How was he still breathing right now? "What the fuck just happened to me?" he asked angrily after having riled himself up.

Ray cleared his throat and thought out his reply. For some reason, he hadn't expected Michael to be mad. "Well, you just survived getting savaged by splicers thanks to a Big Daddy and a Little Sister. And now you have a hand full of electricity."

"That was real?" He thought he had imagined the electricity part. Michael looked down at his hands like they were foreign to him. "How does that work?"

"It's a rewriting in the genetic code," Ray started explaining again. "Plasmids introduce a bunch of modified stem cells that mutate you. I don't know much about it, honestly. I've never taken it."

"Great, so now I'm some sort of fucked up member of the x-men?" Ray didn't react to the reference. This must have been a severely isolated society. "How do I use it?"

"It takes a great deal of energy. That's why you need to take EVE whenever you can find it." He tried to race through the information as quickly as possible, but there was too much Michael had to learn. "Oh, and EVE can be found in EVE hypos. They're hard to miss considering they glow a bright blue. You have enough energy for it now, but I would save the Electro Bolt for later defense. Ah, that's the Plasmid you drank. There are other ones too."

The curly-haired boy was trying to process this all while absently wondering what other plasmids he could find. "Okay, but how do I actually use it?"

"You direct your energy towards your victim." Ray said that like it should have been obvious. "Now, before we go anywhere I wanted to ask you something." He began to tread carefully, afraid of ticking Michael off.

He was right to do so. Michael looked around for his wrench until he remembered that he dropped it upstairs, but Ray's tone had stopped him in his tracks. "Yeah?" Michael asked warily.

"I know you want to get out of here. I'll help you do it, of course, but I need to try and ask. You must feel like the unluckiest man in the world, but seeing you come down the bathysphere- elevator, whatever- made me feel the exact opposite. You're exactly what I've needed. See, you're the only hope I have of seeing my friends. I need to see them again."

Ray had presented his issue well and it convinced Michael. He hated the idea of staying down here longer than needed, but he had also pieced together that it was going to take longer than expected to find a way out. He'd probably be able to do it during his search. That, and Ray's distraught voice would make Michael's stomach gripe with guilt if he didn't do anything to help. "Do you want me to find them?"

"Yes! Yes, please," Ray chirped. It was the first time Michael had heard true excitement in his voice.

"Alright, let's do it," he agreed.

A wave of euphoria swept through Ray. He was the luckiest man in this goddamned forsaken city. "Let's get to Neptune's Bounty, then! Look for an elevator. You're on the bottom floors right now, I'm assuming. Get to the 4th floor." Michael made his way up to retrieve his wrench, preparing to get back on track. "We're looking for a man named Ryan."

Michael took note of the name and made way towards potentially working elevators. Ray was grateful to have him, but he wasn't a fool. There was plenty he had to lie about. Michael wouldn't have helped him if he knew that they were about to search for a mad man.


	2. dancers on a string

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryan finds Michael while Michael is looking for Ryan, and Ray expects it.

The trip to Neptune’s Breach was taking longer than expected. The boys kept getting side-tracked by mindless conversation that Michael created with every observation he made. He was looking out into the ocean now, and everything felt peaceful for the first time. The last time he had seen the ocean, he was drowning in it.

There were fish swimming in small schools and the absent thought of asking Ray how often people noticed the fish fled him. The surroundings were commonplace to Ray, which meant that a lot of Michael's inquiries were criticized. ("What do you mean you don't know what you'd need plasmids for? Isn't it already obvious?!") Still, the rude criticisms didn't stop Michael from asking some things. “Who would ever live in this place,” Michael asked, finally voicing what had been in the back of his mind for a long time.

He had lived in the hot and humid state of Texas for the longest time. Rapture was a stark difference, cold and frigid, and even if the place had been habitable and filled with the great people Ray talked about, Michael couldn't see the appeal. Besides the whole _under the goddamn ocean_ thing, it was just another city in Jersey; it was ridden with crime and drug-related issues, and the law itself was corrupt. Did Ray not remember the world he was in before?

“It used to be beautiful,” Ray reminisced. The comment brought up memories of all the times he had complained about going downtown to work at the shitty game store, located in the heart of Rapture. The place was beautiful, but Ray never thought he would have missed it. All he could focus on, at the time, was hating his job in the city.

“Okay,” Michael hesitated as he looked for defense, “but Las Vegas is pretty too, and nobody ever wants to live there.”

“Is it though? I understand what you mean, but Las Vegas is filled with crazy drunks and overpriced food. Of course nobody wants to live there,” Ray replied, sounding offended. “Rapture was something more than Las Vegas.”

 _Yeah, because drugged up humans and worthless food is a better alternative._ “So what turned it to shit?” Michael asked, urging him to continue defending the soiled city. He couldn't help it.

There was a pregnant silence before Ray answered. “It’s complicated,” he bit back. “There’s always somebody wanting to take advantage of something perfect. People ruin things.”

The sour-note ending made Michael curious but settled him down. "True," he replied simply. Michael continued looking at the fish swimming by and the occasional jellyfish.  _Maybe I shouldn't compare this city to any in America. It's a_ _corrupt city with pretty lights, but it sure as hell isn't Las Vegas._

 

* * *

Finding Ryan was as easy as Ray had insisted it would be. "That's the trick! He'll be looking for you," Ray explained (but not really), "and not the other way around."

If only Michael easily accepted Ray's bullshit explanations. "How does he even know I'm here?"

Ray frowned at the radio sitting on his desk. Struggling to find a reasonable answer, he voiced a noncommittal "I don't know." Ray usually accepted the fact that Ryan could do what he did without asking any questions about it. "He just does. Look, this is more of an excuse for my not knowing. My best guess was Neptune's Breach, so here we are." 

A few seconds earlier and Ryan would have had a perfectly staged entrance, but he entered after that conversation about him took place, meaning that he had heard nothing of Michael's plan to meet him, and, more importantly, he hadn't heard Ray.

Ryan's expression was hard to read as he emerged from one of the back offices with a gun pointed at Michael, but he sure as shit looked terrifying. His hair was disheveled and his face was drained out into a pale that, if Michael was being honest, contrasted terribly with his eyes. It was a shame too because, if it were any other circumstance, Michael would have complimented him on his eyes. _  
_

Michael backed away with his hands up. "Uh... hello?" he hesitated, trying to keep the other from making any rash decisions. "Ryan?" That must have been his name, since his gun perked to the sound of it.

Ryan took a few moments to process his discovery. He had found somebody that was capable of carrying a conversation and - was his arm pulsating with electricity?- he looked healthy. He looked alive and sane, and he knew Ryan. _Holy shit._  It took a while for Ryan to respond. It had been a while since anything has demanded a word from him. "Who are you?"

Michael bit his lip, staring at the gun that Ryan was still pointing. _I don't like that._ "I'm Michael."

All sorts of thoughts swarmed Ryan's head, but they were all understandable. _Do I hurt him? He's a threat. Would it be okay? He's human._  Ryan had been living in a 'kill or be killed' mentality for too long and might have considered ditching the mentality for this considerably sane man, but why take chances? "Why are you here?"

Michael caught the way Ryan's eyes would occasionally flicker towards the electricity his hands emitted. _Right, I have a weapon too,_ he noted, which not only explained the gun trained on him but also brought him comfort regarding his current stance.  "I don't want to hurt you, it's just not my fault I'm armed."

His mind wouldn't let him but the damn gun down. "Is it a problem?" Ryan egged on, referring to his gun. His eyes faded into something angry, and he stood a little taller. Now there was no way that Ryan was going to put his weapon down.

Michael wished he could fight him about it, but he wouldn't stand a chance. Not only that, but this was also Ray's friend, so he wasn't allowed to. "Of course it is," Michael growled. "Are you really going to shoot me?"

Ryan was definitely about to do _something_ by the looks of it. He had begun to walk towards Michael, but a familiar voice came up to cut off their conversation and stopped him in his tracks. "Is it really him?" Ray asked excitedly, ignoring the tension between the two men.

Ryan's immediate pause confused Michael for longer than he would like to admit. The blond slowly looked around, confused, and lowered his gun; that confused Michael too. “Where is that sounding from?” Ryan eventually asked shyly, damaging his previously terrifying demeanor.

 _Oh, right._ Once Michael processed what he was asking about, he clutched the radio in his pocket and smiled. There had to be a reason Ray sent him after Ryan, and Ryan looked like he recognized the voice. Ray was his upper hand. “Oh, you know him?” he asked, feeling confident enough to begun with his snark. The more intelligent part of him advised him to take it easy because  _hey, he literally just had a gun trained on you,_ but Michael wasn't known for his intelligence.

Ryan’s eyes furrowed on the fiery red. It was obvious that he didn't like that Michael had earned the upper hand so easily, or the fact that Michael knew he had. “Yes." Ryan spoke through grit teeth, upset that he couldn't hurt the other while Michael had some connection to his old friend.

“So stop trying to threaten me and maybe I’ll give him to you,” Michael yelled unceremoniously. "God, you're a prick." There was nothing elegant about his words. What did the universe expect out of somebody that was living out a nightmare?

 _"Michael,"_ Ray scolded.

"What? Your friend's prick!"

"Ray?" he asked, still confused as to why he was hearing him and not really carrying for the conversation unfolding in front of him. Michael had yet to reveal the radio, but it was obvious to him that Michael was carrying something. "Is that really you?"

There was a slight hint of silence. It didn't last long, but Ray did hesitate to find a way to say "I'm still here."

" _Jesus_ ," Ryan breathed out, barely able to communicate his surprise. Ray couldn't see the way his face washed over with worry, but Michael saw it. "Are you okay? Where are you?"

"I'm fine, Rye. I do need some help though."

 

* * *

 

They were now settled in one of Ryan's refurbished rooms. It was obvious that he had a lot of time to himself considering a lot of the rooms' renovations were spectacular, too spectacular to not have taken at least weeks. Not only that, but most of the things in the room already looked old. Michael didn't like the survivalist feeling that the room gave off, but looking at Ryan gave it sense.

Ray had explained the fact that Michael needed help getting out of the city, which Ryan insisted would be impossible, but he couldn't seem to find a way to get Ray to stand down on the topic. Michael noticed the way Ryan would turn soft on Ray whenever he started to shoot him different ideas on how he intended to get him out of there. Their whole conversation seemed very intimate, so Michael helped himself to leaving them alone for a while. Whatever Ray said, Michael appreciated because it did eventually work.

Ryan figured that sure,  _maybe_ if he Michael had enough ADAM to gather the strength to go after something greater, it would work. The problem was that there was no way for Michael to get that much ADAM unless...

“I regret saying this,” Ryan said, not evidently regrettably, “but you’re going to have to harvest it from the Little Sisters.”

“The- from the little girls?” Michael asked, surprised. There was no way Ryan was condoning the death of little girls. One had saved his life earlier. They were friendly.

Ryan nodded and placed a hand on Michael’s shoulder softly, afraid that it might be unwelcome. “I understand that you might not want this, but it’s the best chance we have.”

“What if we started harvesting,” Ray offered, sharing the same dread that Michael had. “Instead of letting the Little Sisters harvest all of the ADAM, we could beat them to it.”

Ryan let out a soft sigh. He didn’t want to argue with Ray. “That would take too long. You want to get out of here quickly, do you not?”

Michael scowled in disgust. “They’re children, Ryan!”

“They aren’t! Not anymore,” he growled, showing aggression for reasons Michael didn’t understand. He seemed annoyed, as if he had gone through this conversation before. “The damned doctor turned them into robotic children that only serve to feed for ADAM.” He paused to cool himself down and then glanced back at Michael with a changed expression. “Your life before theirs, Michael.”

“One let me live,” he refuted. A life for a life, Michael thought, and she saved mine. There was no way he could kill a little girl, even if she wasn’t really alive or whatever. He supposed that’s why they were made to resemble little girls. It was a good defense, because only men without morals could be okay with killing one of them. But as terrible fate had it, Rapture erased morals.

Ryan frowned as he looked over at Michael, wishing that he could convince him that killing the Little Sisters- who weren’t actually little sisters to anybody, by the way-was okay. It was harder to do when he knew that Ray was on Michael’s side. “You’ve killed splicers before. What’s changed?”

Michael’s lips were pressed into a thin line. Ray must have told Ryan about his journey here if he knew about the splicers. “That’s not the same thing.”

“Ryan,” Ray’s voice chimed into the argument, “he’s right. You know it’s not the same. Splicers lived their lives out into craziness, but the Sisters haven’t done a thing do deserve what they have. Remember what Jack would say?”

“Jack didn’t know what he was talking about,” Ryan said coldly. He chewed on his lip as he tried to think of a way to qualify his statement, but he quickly lost his will to argue. He had argued Jack’s ideas too many times. “He couldn’t prove anything,” he said, almost specifically to himself.

So far, Ryan had been the perfect Negative Nelly. He had been harsh about making every point he had, and just when Ray had begun to convince him... well, Michael didn't like it. Ray didn’t like it either, but he was used to listening to Ryan’s rants.

Luckily, nicer people did live in the Rapture, and Michael was about to meet one of the kindest. “Who’s Jack?”

Ray waited for Ryan to answer, but he cleared his throat to explain after Ryan showed no interest in talking. “He was a friend of ours, and he believed that Little Sisters could be saved. He tried hard to make it happen.”

Ryan couldn’t help but comment, but he kept it tame. “It was a silly idea.”

“Maybe, but I liked listening to his theories."

"What was his idea?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SEE... i said i wouldn't abandon it.... but yeah, it's almost been a year. yikes. A short chapter because i'm trying to get back on track with this story.


End file.
